Getting on in life
by Peteman89
Summary: A short story following John Hartigan's first heart attack. Please R&R!


**Getting on in life**

**By Peteman89**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the character of John Hartigan. All 'Sin City' characters mentioned here are property of Frank Miller. As is the last paragraph of the story._

I can hear a scream echoing through the wind ahead of me. I move quicker hoping to catch that little prick before he gets her to a car. After that, it'll all be over.

I spot a coat a hundred yards ahead of me. The owner has a small girl tucked under his arm.

Lara Fox: 10 years old.

She's crying and screaming but her voice is distorted. Perhaps he's trying to shut her up. This wouldn't be the case in private quarters for this bastard but I need those screams to find her. Keep screaming honey; bite him if you have to.

This alley will end soon and if I know Roark then there's gonna be a big black car the end waiting for him. It'll take him to some secluded place and he will do things to this ten year old girl that I can't even imagine. He's already raped two other girls; I won't let him get this one. I've gotta get him, now.

I pull my gun from my coat and take aim. Come on John, look down the barrel, aim carefully, look the devil in the eye. I fire the gun and I'm sure I got him, but the bastard keeps running.

The dim lights of Basin City are fading now and all is dark. I've been chasing Roark for god knows how long and I'm too old for this shit. I can't hear little Lara's screams anymore. Did he get to the car?

Up ahead, lights appear. Car headlamps. They come at me, fast. I fire once more at the car windshield and I hit the driver. The car skids to the side and smashes hard into the wall. I'm blinded by the lights but I can hear Lara's screams once more down the alleyway. Roark must have been in that car and bailed after the crash.

I climb over the car and resume the chase. He turns and fires back at me. He's a decent shot and my leg explodes with pain. I fall down onto the wet, rough alley and start to bleed, bad. He's getting away. Come on, John, it's just a flesh wound.

I pull myself up and start to limp after him but he's gone now. I can just faintly hear the screams of little Lara and I scream back in frustration. The sirens of my 'buddies' will be here in a few minutes. Yet again, turning up just when the bad guy gets away. I sometimes think they're on Roark Senior's pay roll.

I slump to the floor and stare at my wound. There's blood all over my trousers. Eileen's gonna kill me. I don't care; I wish I was dead right now. Better of dead than having a guilty conscious, right? All of a sudden, my heart goes. A ripping pain strikes in my chest and I fall over. Great.

Nothing like having a heart attack in a dark alley with your trousers covered in blood and large hole in your shin. It's probably the running. There's no way I should be doing this sort of thing at my age. I was bound to get a heart attack one day.

The sirens are close now. I've got to hang on. Just enough until they get the paramedics here. A squad car pulls up at the end of the alley. Someone gets out but I can't tell with all that light in my eyes. They spot me on the ground. They see the blood and my hand clutching my chest like a child refusing to depart with a teddy bear. They come to me. It's a man.

"John!" he shouts.

Now I'm lying on my back and I look up at him. My angel.

"How're you doing, Bob?" I ask, but it hurts like crap.

He tells me to save my strength but I laugh. He runs back to his car to call dispatch.

"I got an officer down right by the road to Old Town. I need paramedics pronto!" Bob tells the dispatcher.

I lie back and stare at the sky. The sky is clear tonight. I like looking at the sky. It makes me think and helps me concentrate.

I wake up several hours later in a hospital bed. Bob, a nurse checking on my wound and a Doctor Johnston are present. I'm wearing those ridiculous hospital clothes they give you. I hate wearing them; make me feel like a jackass.

"Hello, Mr Hartigan" the doctor says.

I nod back and look at Bob. He looks like shit, but then again he always does. Has he been here all this time? Its light outside. Around one in the afternoon I'd say.

"How're you feeling?" Dr. Johnston asks.

"I've been better, doc"

"Now, Mr Hartigan…you're heart attack was a lot more serious then we'd initially intended. Its fine now but it could cause serious problems for you in the future. It doesn't look bad enough to consider surgery but you should take these painkillers for at least two months. It'll help, believe me"

I thank him and tell Bob he can leave. All I want now is to rest.

I go to sleep dreaming dreams of that bastard Roark. I'll get him one day.

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Monday. It's been six months since my heart attack. It was fine for the first two months on account of the pills, just like the doctor said. Now it's getting worse and I have an appointment with Dr. Flemming, my GP.

Roark has been quiet for a while. This isn't like him. Sometimes I think he's given up but I know that lunatic wants more. Little Lara Fox was abandoned at the side of the road about two days after my attack. She's alive but hasn't said a single thing since. It's my fault. I can't let him get away again.

An hour later and I've been to my appointment. He gave me pills. Says I have a condition. The pills won't do much besides prolong the inevitable ripping pain for two hours before I have to pop another white pill into my mouth. My heart can't take it.

The doctor says I should quit. I'm starting to agree with him. Hurts like a bitch when it happens. So here I am, standing outside my office. Six hours to go.

My last day on the job.

I enter my office for the last time and take my gun from my locked desk. There's some debt collector busting into old people's houses and scaring them. Ugly bastard by the sounds of it. I have to go question some victims.

The old fart I'm staring at now is shaking violently. He's at least twenty years older than me but looks healthier than I do. I'm getting on in life. The old man describes the debt collector who burst into his house that morning and demanded seventy five bucks from him.

"He was a monster!" the man says, "At least six foot three with…an ugly face. I-It was all messed up, l-like he'd b-been in a fight everyday of his life…"

The old man went on and on. No way was I going to spend my last day on the job doing this. I tell him I have enough information and get the hell out of there"

I head straight home to my wife. My dear wife, Eileen. I'm not supposed to come home during work hours but I need a beer and I can't be seen going into any of the stinking, run down piece of crap bars we have on offer here in Basin City.

Eileen greets me at the door with that smile of hers. I love that smile. It's what made me want her. She smiled that same smile to me when we were in college and I knew she had to be mine. I got lucky in life. My last day on the job. Three hours to go.

I collect a beer from the fridge and I've hardly opened it when I notice a butcher's bag. Eileen knows I love steak. I open the bag and see some of the fattest and juiciest steaks I've ever seen. She must really love me. I finish the beer and head out again.

Driving around Basin City, I finally notice what a shit-hole it is. Thirty-odd years I've been on the force but I never noticed how crap this town was. No worries. It'll be over soon. I'll finish today and I'll retire with Eileen to somewhere nice. She deserves it. Stuck with me all these years, cleaning my stuff, cooking my meals, buying my beers. I couldn't even let her have kids. But she loves me and she'll get what she deserves. Like I said, I got lucky in life. Then I get the call.

The call I've been waiting on for three months now. It seems Junior is back on the prowl. Bob phoned me up and told me that Roark had been abroad dealing drugs and now he was back in the famous 'Sin City' to commit sicker crimes and I can't even put him in jail. The sick little prick got another one. Bob'll meet me at the docks. I'm on my way to get Roark now. I'll get him this time.

Just one hour to go. My last day on the job. Early retirement. Not my idea. Doctor's orders. Heart condition. "Angina", he calls it. I'm polishing my badge and getting myself used to the idea of saying "Goodbye" to it. It and the thirty-odd years of protecting and serving and tears and...blood and terror, triumph that represents. I'm thinking of Eileen's slow smile, about the thick fat steak she picked up at the butcher's today. I'm thinking about the one loose end I haven't tied up. A young girl who's out there somewhere helpless in the hands of a drooling lunatic.

Bob said her name was, Nancy Callahan: Age 11

_End Note: My tale ends here but as we all know, John's does not. We all know what happened so I decided not to tell John's entire story._


End file.
